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Oak trees are a symbol of strength and resilience, standing tall and weathering the storms of life.
It is no wonder that poets have long been inspired by these majestic trees and the courage they represent.
Oak tree poems remind us that, even in the toughest of times, we can find the inner strength to persevere and overcome obstacles.
From beautiful and awe-inspiring to whimsical and playful, poems about oak trees offer a variety of ways to explore the themes of courage, resilience, and perseverance.
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Beautiful Oak Tree Poems
These beautiful poems about oak tree capture the majesty and beauty of oak trees, painting vivid images of their sprawling branches and sturdy trunks.
1. The Charter-Oak
by Lydia Howard Sigourney
Charter Oak, Charter Oak
Tell us a tale,
Of the years that have fled,
Like the leaves on the gale,
For thou bear’st a brave annal,
On brown root and stem,
And thy heart was a casket,
For liberty’s gem.
Speak out, in thy wisdom,
Oracular tree,
And we, and our children,
Will listen to thee,
For the lore of the aged,
Is dear in our eyes,
And thy leaves, and thine acorns,
As relics we prize.
I see them, they come,
The dim ages of old,
The sires of our nation,
True-hearted and bold,
The axe of the woodman,
Rings sharp through the glade,
And the poor Indian hunter,
Reclines in the shade.
I see them, they come,
The gray fathers are there,
Who won from the forest,
This heritage fair,
With their high trust in heaven,
When they suffer’d or toil’d,
Both the tempest and tyrant,
Unblenching, they foil’d.
Charter-Oak, Charter-Oak,
Ancient and fair,
Thou didst guard of our freedom,
The rudiment rare,
So, a crown of green leaves,
Be thy gift from the skies,
With the love of the brave,
And the thanks of the wise.
2. Oak in Autumn
by Lydia Howard Sigourney
Old oak! old oak! the chosen one,
Round which my poet’s mesh I twine,
When rosy wakes the joyous sun,
Or, wearied, sinks at day’s decline,
I see the frost-king here and there,
Claim some brown leaflet for his own,
Or point in cold derision where
He soon shall rear the usurper’s throne.
Too soon! too soon! in crimson bright,
Vain mockery of thy wo, he’ll flout,
And proudly climb thy topmost height,
To hang his flaunting signal out;
While thou, as round thine honours fall,
Shalt stand with seam’d and naked bark,
Like banner-staff, so lone and tall,
His ruthless victory to mark.
I, too, old friend, when thou art gone,
Must pensive to my casement go,
Or, like the shuddering Druid, moan
The withering of his mistletoe;
But when young Spring, with matin clear,
Awakes the bird, the stream, the tree,
Fain would I at her call appear,
And hang my slender wreath on thee.
3. The Old Oak Tree
by B.J. Ayers
The old Oak tree, a splendorous beauty,
It stands alone, oh the generations its seen,
Quietly standing, humped and frail,
A son of nature, fulfilling its duty.
Once small and strong, its growth was slow,
Through all the years, that nature allows
The birds, the flowers, it has seen them all,
Sunrise, sunset, and the beautiful moon glow.
The sounds it’s heard, the sights it’s seen,
Swaying gently and strong, with the breeze it feels,
A home for the squirrels, for the nest of birds,
The arrival of seasons, with leaves of crest green
A life near end, only nature will fear,
The absence of its beauty, the forest will know,
The strength, the beauty, and seedlings it shared,
Fulfilling it’s duty, as nature sheds a tear.
4. The Gallant Oak
by Douglas Malloch
When once the New Year came to earth,
To claim his realm by right of birth,
A forest knight, the gallant oak,
Upon the pathway threw his cloak.
The garment green, now turned to brown,
Upon the bare earth fluttered down
And o’er the velvet to his throne
The New Year walked unto his own.
Then gave the New Year a decree
To every bush and forest tree
That every growing, blooming thing
Should hail the mighty oak as king.
Yea, more, he made the king of trees
A ruler of the running seas,
In ships to bear from shore to shore
The earth’s discovered treasures o’er.
Then called he Springtime to his side,
Old Winter’s pink-limbed, blushing bride,
And bade her weave a regal cloak
To cover new the gallant oak.
And so she wove a gown of green,
The richest earth had ever seen,
And garbed anew the mighty tree
With emblem of his majesty.
5. The Oak Tree
by Ann Hawkshaw
The oak it is a noble tree,
The monarch of the wood;
Through winter’s storms a thousand years,
Its hardy trunk hath stood.
It is not stately, like the beech;
The elm more tall may be;
And gracefuller the lovely lime;
Yet ‘t is a noble tree.
An acorn, by a squirrel dropped
Amid a tuft of grass,
May be an oak, on which we look
With wonder as we pass.
But then it years, long years, must grow,
And this may teach to all,
What mighty things in after times
May come from means now small.
How little did they think who saw
A green oak sapling spring
In some old forest long ago,
That it would float a king!
Perhaps some ancient Druid came
To pluck from it a bough;
‘T is now a gallant ship—but he,
Where is that Druid now?
Perhaps an acorn from that tree
Dropped on his nameless grave,
And o’er it now in summer green’
Dark’ tangled branches wave.
How beautiful the oak’s young leaves,
In the bright days of Spring;
Or, when a richer tint the skies
Of early autumn bring:
And all upon the dewy ground
The acorn-cups are laid,
Like richly chased spoons are they,
For fairy banquets made.
So, monarch of all forest trees,
On every English plain;
We crown thee still, thou brave old oak,
And long, long be thy reign!
6. Fletcher Oak
by Mary Oliver
There is a tree here so beautiful it even has a name.
Every morning, when it is still dark, I stand under its branches. They flow from the thick and silent trunk. One can’t begin to imagine their weight.
Year after year they reach,
they send out smaller and smaller branches, and bunches of flat green leaves to touch the light.
Of course this has consequences.
Every year the oak tree fills with fruit.
Just now, since it is September,
the acorns are starting to fall.
I don’t know if I will every write another poem.
I don’t know if I am going to live for a long time yet, or even for a while.
But I am going to spend my life wisely.
I’m going to to be happy and frivolous and useful.
Every morning, in the dark, I gather a few acorns and imagine, inside of them, the pale oak trees.
In the spring, when I go away,
I’ll take them with me, to my own country, which is a land of sun and restless ocean and moist woods.
And I’ll dig down,
I’ll hide each acorn in a cool place in the black earth,
to rise like a slow and beautiful poem; to live along time.
7. The Great Oak Tree
by Mary Oliver
There grew a little flower
‘Neath a great oak tree:
When the tempest ‘gan to lower
Little heeded she:
No need had she to cower,
For she dreaded not its power –
She was happy in the bower
Of her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
When she found that he was fickle,
Was that great oak tree,
She was in a pretty pickle,
As she well might be –
But his gallantries were mickle,
For Death followed with his sickle,
And her tears began to trickle
For her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
Said she, “He loved me never,
Did that great oak tree,
But I’m neither rich nor clever,
And so why should he?
But though fate our fortunes sever,
To be constant I’ll endeavour,
Ay, forever and forever,
To my great oak tree!”
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
8. The Benevolent Oak Tree
by Jung Kut-Byol
Insects live inside an oak tree that is hollow–
inside it they nest, hiding their naked bodies.
In the hollow oak tree mushrooms and mosses live–
they take root there and bloom.
In the hollow oak tree woodpeckers live–
there they grind their beaks and peck insects.
In the hollow oak tree bats live–
they sleep there dangling upside down.
In the hollow oak tree owls live–
they make nests there and hatch their babies.
In the hollow oak tree badgers and foxes live–
they burrow in and make it their home.
Because of all the people living in the hollow house
listening to the hollow music
eating the hollow rice
of the hollow oak tree,
mothers, with hollow insides, withstand strong winds–
mothers, with hollow insides, withstand big famines.
They shake off big snow with their slightly drooping branches–
they rot away their whole lives–
the insides of all the mothers in the world.
9. Oh, Autumn
by Vijay Pandit
Oh, splendorous, spectacular, resplendent autumn!
Boldly you dye cypress ~ flaunting ochre, cinnamon,
Yellowing sugar-maple, glazing tangerine emotions,
As scarlet winds warble in accents of majestic aspens,
Responding in purple whispers tupelo leaves flutter
Reminiscing in revelries evoked by red-oak crimson
Lingering in blazing meadows, enchanting red maple.
Oh, autumn! fly me there, into depths of the season,
Frolicking upon gamboge hills, wrap me in your vision,
Tour with me dazzling terrains of flamboyant foliage
Composing deep pleasure in brilliant changing colors,
Hang your portrait upon cobalt cliffs of ruby horizon
Painting blushing hearts in amber hints of setting sun,
Mindful still of wistful shudders quivering barren trees
And unsung withering yearnings of falling golden leaves,
Aspiring blossoming kisses–on lips of flowering spring.
Famous Oak Tree Poems
These famous poems about oak tree have stood the test of time, inspiring readers with their portrayal of the strength and resilience of oak trees.
1. A Wayside Tree
by Ellen P. Allerton
I passed to-day through a forest
In somberest sombre drest;
Furled were the blood-red banners,
Quenched was each flaming crest.
The wind swept through the branches;
The clouds hung low and gray,
Bearing storms in their bosoms.
Stealing the sun away.
The roar far back in the forest,
The crackling above my head,
As the crisp leaves shook and quivered,
Filled me with nameless dread.
Like the leaves, I shook and shivered
As the cold wind colder blew,
And the tread of advancing tempests
Sounded the deep woods through.
Was there nothing left of the summer?
Naught of the autumn show?
Nothing bright for the winter
To fold in its sheets of snow?
Behold! by the dreary roadside,
Towering fair and green
In the midst of its sombre sisters,
A single oak is seen.
Touched with spatters of crimson,
Bordered with flery bands,
Across its resplendent garments
The sun and the frost clasp hands.
I look at the tree in wonder!
It seems like some ancient sage,
Wearing his youthful freshness
Along with the frosts of age.
Oh! the life must be pure and noble
That can keep, as the seasons go,
Its June and its rich October
Till falleth the winter snow!
2. To an Oak Tree
by Ellwood Roberts
I pause within thy shade,
A brief hour here rest and refreshment find,
Beneath thy ample boughs, and call to mind
How often thus I’ve stayed.
How, in the first Spring days,
I watched thy swelling buds and listened long,
While some sweet bird poured forth a merry song,
A gladsome note of praise.
Thus at the rosy dawn
Of each bright morn I lingered—thus I knew,
Though the cold earth still wore her sombre hue,
That Winter must be gone.
And, later, when the heat
Of Summer hastened on, across my way
Thy shadow stretched, inviting me to stay,
And rest my weary feet.
Then would I musing lie,
And, gazing upward through thy canopy,
Sweet beauty in the passing cloudlets see,
That swept across the sky.
At morning and at noon,
Thy freshness and perfection make me feel
What wondrous charms kind Nature doth reveal
To hearts with her in tune!
And when long shadows fall
Across my pathway, and the night comes on;
When day with all its sights and sounds is gone,
Thy rustling leaves still call.
Thy strength and beauty blend
Most wondrously; for ornament and use
In thee so happily combined, produce
Creation’s perfect end.
May we fulfill it, too!
For each is meant some noble destiny.
May we be strong and dignified like thee,
And to ourselves be true!
3. Yon Mighty Oak Tree
by Jill Tait
I stand at the foot of yon mighty oak tree
Looking up through a glistening, golden canopy
Shimmering gaps of spangled light funnels through yon shredded sight
Branches entwined, boughs that buckles..this ancient, old relic has narls upon knuckles
But here he has planted within God’s rich earth growing his timelessness of herculean worth
As colossal as a sacred curiousty this beauteous bewitchment beckons me
Enchanted by hex and hocus-pocus
I..so small loose my vision of focus
How huge is one’s height with a width of the sky
My compassion is concerned as you creak and I hear you cry
Oozing trickles of sticky saps from bored hollows where the Woodpecker taps
Oh ye magnificent, mahoosive trunk
with entanglements of twisted, tremendous hunk
I salute your ceaselessness from knowledgeable ages and ages
You shall tender your timbers like a book lover’s pages
Safeguarding amidst sheltering an abundance of Mother Nature’s creatures whilst shielding the nocturnal whispering screechers
Wonderous wood I am humbled by you, forever changing your seasonal scenic view
4. April in September
by Katharine Lee Bates
What song is in the sap of this brave oak-tree
That to the north-star faces,
Ravened each June by caterpillar masses
Till all its leaves are laces,
Poor shreds whose very shadow grieves the grasses?
I leave it then, but roses and the smoke-tree
Look from the lawn below it
And watch for that gold witch, Midsummer Weather,
With magic breath to blow it
Free of its foes, whose wings make mirth together.
Vital as Igdrasil, immortal folk-tree,
When I return, its losses
Are all restored, its fresh, soft foliage gleaming
With peach and citron glosses,
A Druid that is never done with dreaming.
5. Doc Hill
by Edgar Lee Masters
I went up and down the streets
Here and there by day and night,
Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick.
Do you know why?
My wife hated me, my son went to the dogs.
And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them.
Sweet it was to see the crowds about the lawns on the day of my funeral,
And hear them murmur their love and sorrow.
But oh, dear God, my soul trembled, scarcely able
To hold to the railing of the new life
When I saw Em Stanton behind the oak tree
At the grave,
Hiding herself, and her grief!
6. Autumn
by Thomas Hood
I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;—
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Where are the songs of Summer?—With the sun,
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south,
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
Where are the merry birds?—Away, away,
On panting wings through the inclement skies,
Lest owls should prey
Undazzled at noonday,
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.
Where are the blooms of Summer?—In the west,
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours,
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest
Like tearful Proserpine, snatch’d from her flow’rs
To a most gloomy breast.
Where is the pride of Summer,—the green prime,—
The many, many leaves all twinkling?—Three
On the moss’d elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling,—and one upon the old oak-tree!
Where is the Dryad’s immortality?—
Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew,
Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through
In the smooth holly’s green eternity.
The squirrel gloats on his accomplish’d hoard,
The ants have brimm’d their garners with ripe grain,
And honey bees have stored
The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells;
The swallows all have wing’d across the main;
But here the Autumn melancholy dwells,
And sighs her tearful spells
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain.
Alone, alone,
Upon a mossy stone,
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the wither’d world looks drearily,
Like a dim picture of the drownèd past
In the hush’d mind’s mysterious far away,
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last
Into that distance, gray upon the gray.
O go and sit with her, and be o’ershaded
Under the languid downfall of her hair:
She wears a coronal of flowers faded
Upon her forehead, and a face of care;—
There is enough of wither’d everywhere
To make her bower,—and enough of gloom;
There is enough of sadness to invite,
If only for the rose that died, whose doom
Is Beauty’s,—she that with the living bloom
Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light:
There is enough of sorrowing, and quite
Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear,—
Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl;
Enough of fear and shadowy despair,
To frame her cloudy prison for the soul!
7. Claribel
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,
Letting the rose-leaves fall:
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody
Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.
At eve the beetle boometh
Athwart the thicket lone:
At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the moss’d headstone:
At midnight the moon cometh,
And looketh down alone.
Her song the lintwhite swelleth,
The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
The callow throstle lispeth,
The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
The babbling runnel crispeth,
The hollow grot replieth
Where Claribel low-lieth.
Inspirational Oak Tree Poems
These inspirational poems about oak tree inspire readers to tap into their inner strength and overcome life’s challenges, just like the mighty oak tree that can withstand the harshest of elements.
1. The Oak’s Journey
by Anonymous
The oak tree started as a seed,
A tiny thing, so small indeed.
But with time and care, it grew and grew,
Becoming tall and strong, like few.
It weathered storms and harsher climes,
And yet it stood the test of time.
Its branches spread, its leaves did sway,
And so it stood, day after day.
The oak tree’s journey has been long,
And yet it sings its timeless song.
Of growth and strength, of life and pride,
And of the beauty found inside.
So let us honor this great tree,
Whose journey we can all agree,
Has shown us all what life can be,
With growth, strength, and tenacity.
2. Mighty Oak
by Kathy J. Parenteau
Stand tall, oh mighty oak, for all the world to see.
Your strength and undying beauty forever amazes me.
Though storm clouds hover above you,
Your branches span the sky
In search of the radiant sunlight you
Count on to survive.
When the winds are high and restless and
You lose a limb or two,
It only makes you stronger.
We could learn so much from you.
Though generations have come and gone
And brought about such change,
Quietly you’ve watched them all,
Yet still remained the same.
I only pray God gives to me
The strength he’s given you
To face each day with hope,
Whether skies are black or blue.
Life on earth is truly a gift.
Every moment we must treasure.
It’s the simple things we take for granted
That become our ultimate pleasures.
3. Charity
by Hezekiah Jordan Leavitt
The oak that grows on the mountain
Has many a twist and crook,—
Stunted, and gnarled, and knotty,
With never a pleasant look;
For by every storm it is beaten,
And beset by every blast;
And the soil is cold and sterile
Wherein its roots are cast.
But the oak that grows in the valley
Is a fair and shapely tree;
Straight, and tall, and majestic
As ever an oak should be!
For ’tis fed by the land’s best fatness
And sheltered from every storm,
With never a blast of the mountain wind
To mar its graceful form.
Yet the stunted oak of the mountain
With as fair a form was blest,
When, a young and tender sapling,
It clung to its mother’s breast;
And had it grown in the valley,
And been fanned by the tempered breeze,
High and wide it had towered in pride,
A giant among the trees!
4. Under an Old Oak Tree
by Patrick N. Kramer
The sun came up today and it did shine.
The sun came up today starting my day just fine.
My day it started just fine you see,
For I, was up early sitting under an old oak tree.
Under an old oak tree I sat watching as the sun did rise.
Watching I did as the sun brightened up the skies.
The sky’s late night hues, I saw first of purple and black.
Turning to shades of blue, as against that oak tree I leaned back.
I leaned back with my thoughts of the grandeur that I did see.
There I sat with thoughts of how great my day started for me.
I sat against that grand old oak tree, watching birds go passing by.
I watched those birds, and my thoughts soared up into the sky.
Up into the skies and then into the Heavens, my thought did go.
And then I thanked the Lord for today and rightly so.
Rightly so it was, to thank my Lord for this day.
For it was he who painted for me this beautiful display.
God painted for me and the world a display of colors for all to see.
Colors that came out of the darkness to be enjoyed by all not just me!
So perhaps someday I will find you too, under that old oak tree someday.
Then together under the old oak tree, we’ll watch the sun chase the night away.
5. Majesty of the Oak
by Anonymous
The oak tree stands so tall and proud,
Its branches reaching to the clouds.
Its trunk so strong, its leaves so green,
A sight unlike any other scene.
It’s been here for so many years,
Through rain and wind, through joy and tears.
And though it’s weathered many storms,
It still stands strong, its majesty adorned.
The oak tree’s roots go deep and wide,
A symbol of strength, of life, and pride.
Its branches shelter those below,
And in its shade, we find repose.
So let us honor this great tree,
A symbol of life and majesty.
May it stand for years to come,
A symbol of nature’s strength and some.
Short Oak Tree Poems
Short and sweet, these short poetries about oak tree capture the essence of oak trees with just a few lines.
1. The Oak-Wood
by Nicolaus Lenau
Beneath the holy oaks I wandered
Through twilight aisles where, soft and mild,
I heard a brook, which there meandered,
Keep lisping like a praying child.
With tremors sweet my heart did flutter;
The forest rustled weird and low,
As if it fain would something utter
Which yet I had no right to know;
As if it were about revealing
The secret of God’s thought and will,
When suddenly, His nearness feeling,
It seemed affrightened—and grew still.
2. Eliot’s Oak
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud
With sounds of unintelligible speech,
Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach,
Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd;
With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed,
Thou speakest a different dialect to each;
To me a language that no man can teach,
Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud.
For underneath thy shade, in days remote,
Seated like Abraham at eventide
Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote
His Bible in a language that hath died
And is forgotten, save by thee alone.
3. Beneath the Oak
by Rose Maxim
How sweet it is in solitude to be,
A little while away from worldly care,
Reclining calmly ‘neath the spreading tree
Where odors sweet are wafted on the air.
Now gentle breezes fan the glowing cheek,
And stir the leaves that rustle audibly,
The softly swaying branches seem to speak:
“Here I will ever rest and shelter thee.
No sound is heard save the low, babbling brook,
The cricket’s chirp, the song of whip-poorwill.
Within this beauteous, sequestered nook,
Where life is sweetest, let me linger still;
Where Nature and the soul can be in tune,
The creature and Creator still commune.
4. Mighty Oak Tree
by Russell Sivey
The mighty oak tree sits near
Orange and red leaves
Looking like it is on fire
They clog up the eaves
Beautiful to see Sight
unlike any around in awe completely
5. The Oak Tree
by Matsuo Basho
The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.
Long Oak Tree Poems
These long poetries about oak tree take readers on a journey, exploring the many facets of oak trees and the symbolism they represent.
1. Saga of the Oak
by William Henry Venable
Hoarsely to the midnight moon
Voiced the oak his rugged rune:
“Harken, sibyl Moon, to me;
Hear the saga of the Tree.
“Thou, O queen of splendor, must
Pale and crumble back to dust;
Through slow eons diest thou,—
Doomsday craves my vitals now.
“I am scion of a line
Old, imperial, divine;
Earth produced my ancestor
Ere great Odin, was or Thor.
“From the hursts of holy oak
Fateful gods of Asgard spoke;
In the consecrated shade
Bard and Druid sang and prayed.
“Fostered in an oaken womb
Slept Trifingus, sword of doom;
Therewith woaded Caratak
Drave the steel-sarked Roman back.
“Where, profaned by legioned foes,
In the shuddering forest rose
Mona’s altars flaming rud,
Britain drowned her woe in blood.
“Then the dread decree of Norn
Sounded in the groves forlorn;
Vikings swooping from the North
Harried every scaur and forth.
“Forests fell with crash and roar,
Masted galiots spurned the shore,
Dragon-breasted,—swum the meer,
Daring danger, scouting fear.
“Hengist’s brood and Horsa’s kin,
Seed of Garmund, sons of Finn,
Dane and Saxon sail and sweep
Battling o’er the wrathful deep;
“Hearts of oak! their valor gave
Right of might to rule the wave,
Gave to Nelson’s ocean war
Copenhagen, Trafalgar!
“Bray of trumpet! roll of drum!
When shall Balder’s kingdom come?
Bitter sap shall when grow sweet
In the acorn at my feet?
“Centuries do I stand here
Thinking thoughts profound and drear,
Dreaming solemn dreams sublime
Of the mysteries of Time.
“Roots of mine do feed on graves;
I have eaten bones of braves;
In the ground the learnéd gnomes
Read to me their cryptic tomes.
“Annals treasured in the air
All the past to me declare;
Every wind of heaven brings
Tribute for me on its wings.
“Through my silence proud and lone
Whispers waft from the Unknown;
Musing eld hath second ken—
Moon! the dead shall live again.
“Sun-scorch have I borne, and pangs
From the gnaw of winter’s fangs;
Fought tornadoes, nor forsook
Roothold when the mountains shook.
“Oft the zig-zag thunder hath
Struck me with his fiery scath,—
To my core the havoc sped,
Yet I never bowed my head.
“I am weary of the years;
Overthrown are all my peers,
Slain by steel or storm or flame,—
I would perish too—the same.
“Yet shall I a little space
Linger still in life’s embrace
Ere metempsychosing time
Drag me down to Niflheim.
“Wherefore shun or summon fate?
Wisest they who sanely wait;
In my fiber nature saith,
Life is good and good is death.
“Mated birds of procreant Spring
In my branches build and sing;
Grass is green and flowers bloom
Where I spread my golden gloom;
“Happy children round me play;
Plighted lovers near me stray;
Insects chirping in the night
Thrill me with obscure delight;
“Circling seasons as they run,
Couriers of the lavish sun,
Dower me with treasure lent
By each potent element;
“Ministers to me the whole
Zonéd globe from pole to pole;
In my buds and blossoms beat
Pulses from the central heat;—
“Everything is part of me,
Firmament and moving sea;
I of all that is am part,
Stone and star and human heart.
“Primal Cause etern, self-wrought,
Majesty transcending thought,
This my substance and my soul,
Origin, desire, and goal.
“Through creation’s vasty range
Blows the winter blast of change;
Leaf-like from the Life-Tree whirled
World shall rot on ruined world.
“Hail, inexorable hour
Fraught with clysmian wrack and stour
Welcome, transmutation’s course
And the cosmic rage of Force.
“Yond the atomed universe
Now we gather, now disperse,—
Unto darkling chaos tost,
Back from the chaos—nothing lost.
“Forth abysmal voids of death
Resurrection issueth:—
Flaming ether, quickened clod,
Bodying new forms of God.
“Harken, Moon!—When I am gone,
I, re-born, shall burgeon on;
Out thine ashes shall arise
Other Thou, to ride the skies.”
Spake no more the hoary oak;
No response the wan moon spoke;
But the poet who had heard
Pondered the Dodonian word.
2. The Oak Tree
by Cecil Frances Alexander
Long ago in changeful autumn,
When the leaves were turning brown,
From the tall oak’s topmost branches
Fell a little acorn down.
And it tumbled by the pathway,
And a chance foot trod it deep
In the ground, where all the winter
In its shell it lay asleep;
With the white snow lying over,
And the frost to hold it fast,
Till there came the mild spring weather,
When it burst its shell at last.
First shot up a sapling tender,
Scarcely seen above the ground;
Then a mimic little oak tree
Spread its tiny arms around.
Many years the night dews nursed it,
Summers hot, and winters long,
The sweet sun looked bright upon it,
While it grew up tall and strong.
Now it standeth like a giant,
Casting shadows broad and high,
With huge trunk and leafy branches,
Spreading up into the sky.
There the squirrel loves to frolic,
There the wild birds rest at night,
There the cattle come for shelter
In the noontime hot and bright.
Child, when haply thou art resting
‘Neath the great oak’s monster shade,
Think how little was the acorn,
Whence that mighty tree was made.
Think how simple things and lowly,
Have a part in nature’s plan,
How the great hath small beginnings,
And the child will be a man.
Little efforts work great actions,
Lessons in our childhood taught
Mould the spirit to that temper,
Whereby noblest deeds are wrought.
Cherish then the gifts of childhood,
Use them gently, guard them well;
For their future grown and greatness,
Who can measure, who can tell?
3. The Brave Old Oak
by Henry Fothergill Chorley
A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;
Here ’s health and renown to his broad green crown,
And his fifty arms so strong.
There ’s fear in his frown when the sun goes down,
And the fire in the west fades out;
And he showeth his might on a wild midnight,
When the storm through his branches shout.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
In the days of old, when the spring with cold
Had brightened his branches gray,
Through the grass at his feet crept maidens sweet,
To gather the dew of May.
And on that day to the rebeck gay
They frolicked with lovesome swains;
They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid,
But the tree it still remains.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes
Were a merry sound to hear,
When the squire’s wide hall and the cottage small
Were filled with good English cheer.
Now gold hath the sway we all obey,
And a ruthless king is he;
But he never shall send our ancient friend
To be tossed on the stormy sea.
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone!
4. Fall of the Charter Oak
by Lydia Howard Sigourney
Woe,—for the mighty Tree!
The monarch of the plain,—
The storm hath reft its noble heart—
It ne’er shall tower again,
In ruins, far and wide,
Its giant limbs are laid,
Like some fallen dynasty of earth,
Whose nod the nations sway’d.
Woe, for the ancient Oak,
Our Pilgrim-fathers’ pride,
That shook the centuries from its crown,
And flourish’d when they died;
The grass-flower at its feet,
Shall quickening Spring restore,
But healthful dews, or nesting bird
Revisit it no more.
The roaming Indian prized
Its canopy of shade,
And bless’d it while his council fire
In eddying volumes play’d,
He for its wisdom sought
As to a Delphic shrine,
He ask’d it when to plant his corn,
And waited for the sign.
You white haired man sits down
Where its torn branches lie,
And tells the listening boy, the tale
Of threatened Liberty,
How tyrant pomp and power,
Once in the olden time,
Came Brennus-like, with iron tramp
To crush our infant clime,
And how that brave old Oak
Stood forth, a friend indeed,
And spread its AEgis o’er our sires,
In their extremest need,
And in its sacred breast
Their germ of freedom bore,
And hid their life-blood in its veins,
Until the blast was o’er.
Throngs, gathering round the spot
Their mournful memories weave,
Even children, in strange silence stand,
Unconscious why they grieve,
Or for their casket seek
Some relic spray to glean,
Acorn, or precious leaf, to press
Their Bible-page between.
Was there no other prey,
Oh, Storm!—that thunder’d by?
Wreaking dark vengeance, ‘neath the shroud
Of the wild midnight sky?
Was there no kingly Elm,
Majestic, broad and free,
That thou must, in thy madness, smite
Our tutelary tree?
Our beacon of the past,
Our chronicler of time,
Our Mecca, to whose greenwood glade
Came feet from every clime?
Hark!—to the echoing dirge,
In measures deep and slow,
While on the breeze our banner floats,
Draped in the weeds of woe.
The fair ones of our vale
O’er its lost Guardian sigh,
And elders with prophetic dread
Dark auguries descry,
Patriots and sages deign
O’er the loved wreck to bend,
And in this funeral of the Oak
Lament their Country’s friend.
5. The Oak Tree
by Mary Howitt
Sing for the Oak Tree,
The monarch of the wood;
Sing for the Oak Tree,
That groweth green and good;
That groweth broad and branching
Within the forest shade;
That groweth now, and yet shall grow
When we are lowly laid!
The Oak Tree was an acorn once,
And fell upon the earth;
And sun and showers nourished it,
And gave the Oak Tree birth.
The little sprouting Oak Tree.
Two leaves it had at first,
Till sun and showers had nourished it,
Then out the branches burst.
The little sapling Oak Tree!
Its root was like a thread,
Till the kindly earth had nourished it,
Then out it freely spread:
On this side and on that side
It grappled with the ground;
And in the ancient, rifted rock
Its firmest footing found.
The winds came, and the rain fell;
The gusty tempest blew;
All, all were friends to the Oak Tree
And stronger yet it grew.
The boy that saw the acorn fall,
He feeble grew and grey;
But the Oak was still a thriving tree,
And strengthened every day!
Four centuries grows the Oak Tree
Nor doth its verdue fail;
Its heart is like the iron wood,
Its bark like plated mail.
Now, cut us down the Oak Tree,
The monarch of the wood;
And of its timbers stout and strong
We’ll build a vessel good!
The Oak Tree of the forest
Both east and west shall fly;
And the blessings of a thousand lands
Upon our ship shall lie!
For she shall not be a man-of-war,
Nor a pirate shall she be:—
But a noble, Christian merchant-ship
To sail upon the sea.
Then sing for the Oak Tree,
The monarch of the wood;
Sing for the Oak Tree, That groweth green and good;
That groweth broad and branching
Within the forest shade;
That groweth now, and yet shall grow,
When we are lowly laid!
6. The Oak
by James Russell Lowell
What gnarlèd stretch, what depth of shade, is his!
There needs no crown to mark the forest’s king;
How in his leaves outshines full summer’s bliss!
Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring,
Which he with such benignant royalty
Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent;
All nature seems his vassal proud to be,
And cunning only for his ornament.
How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows,
An unquelled exile from the summer’s throne,
Whose plain, uncinctured front more kingly shows,
Now that the obscuring courtier leaves are flown.
His boughs make music of the winter air,
Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front
Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair
The dints and furrows of time’s envious brunt.
How doth his patient strength the rude March wind
Persuade to seem glad breaths of summer breeze,
And win the soil that fain would be unkind,
To swell his revenues with proud increase!
He is the gem; and all the landscape wide
(So doth his grandeur isolate the sense)
Seems but the setting, worthless all beside,
An empty socket, were he fallen thence.
So, from off converse with life’s wintry gales,
Should man learn how to clasp with tougher roots
The inspiring earth;—how otherwise avails
The leaf-creating sap that sunward shoots?
So every year that falls with noiseless flake
Should fill old scars upon the stormward side,
And make hoar age revered for age’s sake,
Not for traditions of youth’s leafy pride.
So from the pinched soil of a churlish fate,
True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth,
So between earth and heaven stand simply great,
That these shall seem but their attendants both;
For nature’s forces with obedient zeal
Wait on the rooted faith and oaken will;
As quickly the pretender’s cheat they feel,
And turn mad Pucks to flout and mock him still.
Lord! all thy works are lessons,—each contains
Some emblem of man’s all-containing soul;
Shall he make fruitless all thy glorious pains,
Delving within thy grace an eyeless mole?
Make me the least of thy Dodona-grove,
Cause me some message of thy truth to bring,
Speak but a word through me, nor let thy love
Among my boughs disdain to perch and sing.
Oak Tree Poems That Rhyme
These playful and whimsical poems about oak tree use rhyming words to paint vivid images of oak trees and the emotions they evoke.
1. In the Oak
by Katharine Lee Bates
The leaves and tassels of the oak
Were golden-green with May,
Pavilion whence forever broke
Some angel roundelay.
A carol like a glory came
From topmost twig astir,
Enkindled by a flying flame,
The scarlet tanager.
The tree was glad as Paradise
When, eager soul on soul,
The saints flock home. There glistened twice
A wild-throat oriole;
And once the grosbeak’s rosy breast
Poured its enchanted hymn;
While sunny wing and jewel crest
Lit many a blissful limb.
The whole wide world was in my oak
Whose catkins danced for mirth,
— Plumes gray as curling city smoke,
Plumes brown as fresh-plowed earth;
Even heaven had graced our festival,
For oft the loving eye
Would find, coaxed by a wistful call,
The bluebird’s fleck of sky.
2. A Forest Episode
by Anne Reeve Aldrich
In my forest grew an oak,
King among the wood land folk.
Proudly rose his lofty head,
Mightily his boughs were spread.
Just a little breeze one day
Touched his leaves in wanton play,
Round him in a frolic ran,
That was how the storm began.
Just that little breeze awoke
Longing in the lusty oak.
All the leaves sighed; “Come again!”
Nor was the amorous prayer in vain,
For the breeze, in one short hour
Came in conquering whirlwind’s power,
And the heart of oak was riven,
With one flash of fire from heaven.
3. The Oak’s Wisdom
by Anonymous
The oak tree stands in silent grace,
Its branches reaching to embrace,
The sky above, the earth below,
A symbol of what we can know.
For in its strength and solid form,
The oak tree teaches to transform,
Our own lives with growth and care,
To reach up high and stand up there.
And in its branches, we can find,
A wisdom that is truly kind,
For in its leaves, the oak tree tells,
A tale of life that rings like bells.
So let us listen to this tree,
Whose wisdom can help set us free,
And let its teachings guide us all,
To stand up tall, and never fall.
4. The Royal Oak Tree
by Jenny Maryl
The Royal Oak tree, over a hundred years old,
Planted by the queen, or so the story is told.
Not far from the crossroads, there it stands so proud,
There are times when its top gets lost in a cloud.
You can see it on the horizon from far away,
And under its branches, the children love to play,
Chasing each other around or having a singsong.
Throughout every season it stands there tall and strong.
In spring the old oak slowly begins to awake,
Showing tips of green from the leaves it’s starting to make.
In summer it cast its shadow far over the ground,
Where shelter from the hot summer sun can be found.
In autumn comes the soft shades of red, gold, and brown.
A royal elegance, a beautiful crown.
When winter arrives, its leaves fade and disappear,
As the old oak goes back to sleep for another year.
Oak Tree Poems for Kids
Written with young readers in mind, these oak tree poems for children introduce kids to the beauty and strength of oak trees in a fun and engaging way.
1 Little by Little
by Anonymous
“Little by little,” an acorn said,
As it slowly sank in its mossy bed,
“I am improving every day,
Hidden deep in the earth away.”
Little by little, each day it grew;
Little by little, it sipped the dew;
Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot.
Day after day, and year after year,
Little by little the leaves appear;
And the slender branches spread far and wide,
Till the mighty oak is the forest’s pride.
Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea,
An insect train work ceaselessly.
Grain by grain, they are building well,
Each one alone in its little cell.
Moment by moment, and day by day,
Never stopping to rest or to play,
Rocks upon rocks, they are rearing high,
Till the top looks out on the sunny sky.
The gentle wind and the balmy air,
Little by little, bring verdure there;
Till the summer sunbeams gayly smile
On the buds and the flowers of the coral isle.
“Little by little,” said a thoughtful boy,
“Moment by moment, I’ll well employ,
Learning a little every day,
And not spending all my time in play.
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell,
Whatever I do, I will do it well.
“Little by little, I’ll learn to know
The treasured wisdom of long ago;
And one of these days, perhaps, we’ll see
That the world will be the better for me.”
And do you not think that this simple plan
Made him a wise and useful man?
2. The Oak and The Rose
by Shel Silverstein
An oak tree and a rosebush grew,
Young and green together,
Talking the talk of growing things-
Wind and water and weather.
And while the rosebush sweetly bloomed
The oak tree grew so high
That now it spoke of newer things-
Eagles, mountain peaks and sky.
‘I guess you think you’re pretty great,’
The rose was heard to cry,
Screaming as loud as it possibly could
To the treetop in the sky.
‘And now you have no time for flower talk,
Now that you’ve grown so tall.’
‘It’s not so much that I’ve grown,’ said the tree,
‘It’s just that you’ve stayed so small.’
3. The Oak Tree
by Anonymous
The oak tree is a brave old tree,
It lives to be quite old,
It gives good shade in summer,
And stands the winter’s cold.
The men who build the stately ships
That sail across the sea
Think there’s no wood so strong, so good
As the brave old white oak tree.
Oak Tree Poems about Love
These poems use oak trees as a metaphor for the enduring power of love, symbolizing the deep roots and unwavering strength that can weather any storm.
1. Mother’s Love
by Adya Tripathi
One big oak tree,
Which was very hollow,
On it rested,
The nest of a swallow.
The swallow had babies,
In her little home,
Soon the mother flew away,
For food in a dome.
Just then a hunter came,
For the meat in the nest.
With ruthless thoughts,
He was a pest.
The mother came back,
And fought with the crook.
She got scratches everywhere,
But did not hide in a nook.
The she-bird flew away,
With her children, she snatched.
For a mother’s love,
Can never be matched.
Seeing the will-power,
Of the little swallow,
The hunter was taken aback,
And left the tree hollow.
2. The Old Oak Tree
by Erica
Sometimes at night I get up from my bed.
I go outside and I lay down my head.
On these cool fall nights, I lay in peace
Under the shelter of the old oak tree.
Leaning my head against its bark.
Looking up at the sky, things aren’t so dark.
I can feel it… the oak is living, breathing.
The leaves are alive… its heart is beating…
I listen closer and wonder what it’s seen
With its wise old bark and its leaves of green.
It cradles me closer. The leaves whisper to me,
So I sit there and listen to the old oak tree.
Gazing at the dark night sky,
The expanse of stars is breathtaking. I sigh.
Out there is a universe much greater than I,
But the place where I belong is where I reside.
One day I’ll explore it. I’ll touch every star,
And I’ll find my way back to where you are.
One day I’ll go out there, oh the things I will see.
Until then…I’ll stay under the old oak tree.
Safe in its arms, I lay. The night is still.
It loves me, holds me, and always will.
Hush. It whispers. I close my eyes,
And I begin to drift as the moon does rise.
Hush says the tree. Everything is all right.
I let myself slip away on that cool fall night.
And I dream… I am far, somewhere up in the sky,
Exploring the universe that is greater than I…
Living, breathing, she whispers to me,
So I lay and dream
Under the old oak tree.
3. The Old Oak Tree
by Harry J Horsman
Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
decomposed humus
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
new beginning.
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
logging representative
we will gladly choke;
nature’s guardian.
“This! Obliging old oak.”
Acorns and Oak Tree Poems
These poems about acorns and oak trees celebrate the small but mighty acorn, a symbol of growth and potential that gives rise to the mighty oak tree.
1. The Pebble and the Acorn
by Hannah Flagg Gould
“I am a Pebble! and yield to none!”
Were swelling words of a tiny stone,
“Nor time nor season can alter me;
I am abiding, while ages flee.
The pelting hail and the drizzling rain
Have tried to soften me, long, in vain;
And the tender dew has sought to melt,
Or touch my heart; but it was not felt.
There’s none that can tell about my birth,
For I’m as old as the big, round earth.
The children of men arise, and pass
Out of the world, like the blades of grass;
And many a foot on me has trod,
That’s gone from sight, and under the sod!
I am a Pebble! but who art thou,
Rattling along from the restless bough?”
The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute,
And lay for a moment abashed and mute;
She never before had been so near
This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere;
And she felt for a time at a loss to know
How to answer a thing so coarse and low.
But to give reproof of a nobler sort
Than the angry look, or the keen retort,
At length she said, in a gentle tone,
“Since it has happened that I am thrown
From the lighter element, where I grew,
Down to another, so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,
Abased, I will cover my head with dust,
And quickly retire from the sight of one
Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun,
Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel
Has ever subdued, or made to feel!”
And soon, in the earth, she sunk away
From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay.
But it was not long ere the soil was broke
By the peering head of an infant oak!
And, as it arose and its branches spread,
The Pebble looked up, and wondering said,
“A modest Acorn! never to tell
What was enclosed in its simple shell;
That the pride of the forest was folded up
In the narrow space of its little cup!
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
Which proves that nothing could hide her worth!
And oh! how many will tread on me,
To come and admire the beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I!
Useless and vain, a cumberer here,
I have been idling from year to year.
But never, from this, shall a vaunting word
From the humbled Pebble again be heard,
Till something without me or within,
Shall show the purpose for which I’ve been!”
The Pebble its vow could not forget,
And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.
2. Oak Tree
by Bernard Shaw
I took an acorn and put it in a pot.
I then covered it with earth, not a lot
Great pleasure was mine watching it grow.
The first budding green came ever so slow.
I watered my plant twice a week
I knew I would transplant it down by the creek.
One day it would be a giant oak,
To shield me from the sun a sheltering cloak
Lovers will carve their initials in the bark,
An arrow through a heart they will leave their mark.
It will shelter those caught in a fine summers rain,
Under its leafy bows joy will be again.
Creatures of the wilds will claim it for their own,
Squirrels will reside here in their own home.
Birds will build nests and raise their young,
They will sing melodies a chorus well sung.
Under it’s branches grass will grow,
Here and there a wild flower it’s head will show.
My oak tree for hundreds of years will live.
Perhaps the most important thing I had to give.
3. The Acorn and the Oak
by Ella Maxwell Haddox
Within the damp and clinging earth,
Where darkness spans a world unseen,
An acorn dreamed; and, dreaming, saw
Blue skies and forests green.
It dreamed of light, where all was gloom;
It dreamed of strength, where none prevailed
Save that which held the dream, when dark
And threatening powers assailed.
It saw itself an oak, whose crest
From Morn’s first blush a halo caught;
In whose broad boughs the weary birds
At eve a shelter sought.
And as in hopefulness it dreamed.
The unbelieving earth made room;
And, powerless to repress, did haste
To friendliness assume.
Thou, too, dream on, O Soul! and let
Not things which seem thy faith undo;
For All of Life concerns itself
To make thy dream come true.
4. The Acorn
by Jones Very
The seed has started,—who can stay it? see,
The leaves are sprouting high above the ground;
Already o’er the flowers, its head; the tree
That rose beside it and that on it frowned,
Behold! is but a small bush by its side.
Still on! it cannot stop; its branches spread;
It looks o’er all the earth in giant pride.
The nations find upon its limbs their bread,
Its boughs their millions shelter from the heat,
Beneath its shade see kindreds, tongues, and all
That the wide world contains, they all retreat
Beneath the shelter of that acorn small
That late thou flung away; ’twas the best gift
That heaven e’er gave;—its head the low shall lift.
5. Song of Life
by Charles Mackay
A traveller on a dusty road
Strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening-time,
To breathe its early vows;
And Age was pleased, in heights of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore—
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well
Where weary men might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle on the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that Toil might drink.
He passed again; and lo! the well,
By summer never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues,
And saved a life beside.
A nameless man, amid the crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied from the heart,
A whisper on the tumult thrown,
A transitory breath,
It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
6. Seeing Autumn’s Oak Adorn
by Crystalline
Painting sky before I was born,
Draping my grave in leaf and acorn.
Strong Oak Tree Poems
These powerful and strong as an oak tree poems capture the unyielding strength of oak trees, reminding readers of their own inner strength and ability to overcome adversity.
1. An Oak Tree
by Penny Lynne
Have you ever wondered why an oak tree
pretty much stands alone?
And although it’s strong and mighty
the other trees have gone
Well let me tell you a little story
that might help you to better understand
why this big and mighty oak tree
must alone forever stand
Now when it was just a sapling
there were lots of trees around
planting its roots down firmly
deep within the ground
that it grew so fast and hardy
and it spread its branches wide
taking all the sunshine for miles around
that the other trees had died
Well you’re much like that oak tree
yes you’re very strong
but strength just isn’t everything
so I’ll tell you what went wrong
You spread your branches widely
and you took away my sun
and if you’re not real careful man
you too will stand alone
Well you’re much like that oak tree
yes you’re very strong
but strength just isn’t everything
and that’s why our love went wrong
You spread your branches widely
and you took away my sun
and that’s why our love has died
now you too will stand alone
If you spread your branches widely
and you take up all the sun
If you have to be an oak tree
you might just end up alone
2. The Oak Tree
by Johnny Ray Ryder Jr.
A mighty wind blew night and day
It stole the oak tree’s leaves away
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark
Until the oak was tired and stark
But still the oak tree held its ground
While other trees fell all around
The weary wind gave up and spoke.
How can you still be standing Oak?
The oak tree said, I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two
Carry every leaf away
Shake my limbs, and make me sway
But I have roots stretched in the earth
Growing stronger since my birth
You’ll never touch them, for you see
They are the deepest part of me
Until today, I wasn’t sure
Of just how much I could endure
But now I’ve found, with thanks to you
I’m stronger than I ever knew
3. The Old Oak Tree
by William Henry Davies
I sit beneath your leaves, old oak,
You mighty one of all the trees;
Within whose hollow trunk a man
Could stable his big horse with ease.
I see your knuckles hard and strong,
But have no fear they’ll come to blows;
Your life is long, and mine is short,
But which has known the greater woes?
Thou has not seen starved women here,
Or man gone mad because ill-fed—
Who stares at stones in city streets,
Mistaking them for hunks of bread.
Thou hast not felt the shivering backs
Of homeless children lying down
And sleeping in the cold, night air—
Like doors and walls in London town.
Knowing thou hast not known such shame,
And only storms have come thy way,
Methinks I could in comfort spend
My summer with thee, day by day.
To lie by day in thy green shade,
And in thy hollow rest at night;
And through the open doorway see
The stars turn over leaves of light.
4. I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing
by Walt Whitman
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friend near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near,
I know very well I could not.
5. I Am an Oak Tree
by Anonymous
My scars represent what I’ve been through
The grooves in my bark represent the paths I have traveled
My roots are where I have come from
The underlying, tangled mess that has made me who I am today
The birds that nest in me are simply the joys of life that
Come and go before I ever take the time to appreciate them
My branches are my memories I have created throughtout my life
The ups and the downs represent both the heartfelt and the heartbreaking
My leaves are a reminder that life will always go on
After hard times, what was truly meant to be mine will always return
My rings are the representation of how wise I have become
My trunk is what I stand for and what I believe
You may cut me down and try to rid of me
But I shall always stand my ground
For my roots travel for miles beneath the cold, firm soil
And I shall always return and become as strong as I was before
For I am an oak tree
May I forever grow
Final Thoughts
Oak tree poems remind us of the importance of courage and resilience in the face of adversity.
These poems use the symbolism of oak trees to inspire readers to tap into their inner strength and persevere through the toughest of times.
Whether short and sweet or long and thoughtful, oak tree poems offer a variety of ways to explore themes of fortitude and determination.
From playful and whimsical to profound and moving, these poems capture the beauty and majesty of oak trees and the powerful emotions they evoke.
Poems for oak trees are a testament to the enduring power of nature and the human spirit.
